She tentatively asked, “Is everything okay? You're not mad at me for blabbing about you last night?”
His attention stayed on the television and the professor who was singing his praises.
Piper switched on two lamps to brighten the room, and took a seat on the tightly-upholstered settee that was her mother's seating choice on the rare occasion that she was in town. What would the elder Chens think of the ghost that had moved into their Arizona home? They were both superstitious, refusing to stay in hotels that were near cemeteries or hospitals. Piper had barely asked herself the question when the answer came to her. The Chens would immediately sell the house and buy another. Immediately. She laughed out loud at the absurdity.
George gave her a curious look, turning his head so his eyes could flit back and forth between her and the TV screen. She explained what she'd laughed about. “If my parents knew a ghost had been in that chair, they'd burn the chair and sell the house.”
He frowned and shook his head.
“It's nothing personal,” she said. “But most people are afraid of ghosts.”
His chest heaved with a silent sigh. He understood.
She grabbed some tissues from the box on the coffee table and mopped the spilled coffee off her bare feet before tucking them up, cross-legged. George tilted his head so the brim of his fisherman's cap shrouded his eyes. Piper sensed the old man was watching for a glimpse of her underwear under the short robe. She grabbed a pillow for her lap and ignored him, sipping her coffee.
They both watched CNN until the coverage changed from the author to national politics.
George shifted noiselessly in his chair and gave her a bored look.
“If you're that bored, maybe it's time for you to move on to wherever it is you're headed.”
He gave her a hurt look.
“Or stick around,” she added quickly. “As you may have noticed, it's a pretty big house for just one person.”
He rested his chin on his fist and gave her a look that reminded her of being in therapy. He waved for her to continue speaking, though she detected a hint of condescension in his eyes.
“Let's not talk about me,” she said icily. “I'm only twenty-one. I've got the rest of my life to sort out my problems. But you're dead and done.” She swallowed, surprised by the brusqueness of her words. “Sorry.”
He blinked slowly, wordlessly acknowledging her apology.
“So, why are you here?” she asked. “Unfinished business?”
He shrugged, as if to say her guess was as good as his.
“What happened yesterday, before you became a ghost? Did you fall down the stairs by yourself, or did someone push you?”
He looked thoughtful for a full minute. Slowly, he removed his cap and mimed being struck on the back of the head.
“Someone hit you from behind?”
He nodded.
“And you didn't see them?”
He shook his head. No.
“That was before you fell down the stairs?”
He nodded vehemently.
“I suppose the medical examiner will figure that out, and there'll be an investigation. Do you have any idea who it was, so I can call in a tip to the police? Did you have any enemies?”
He gave her a grin that looked downright mischievous He probably did have enemies, and he was proud of it.
The TV screen flickered red, and the coverage switched back to George Morrison and the House of Hallows franchise. George lost all interest in communicating with Piper.
She asked, “What should I know about your enemies? Are they business or personal?”
He ignored her.
She sighed and settled into the tightly-upholstered seat. They both watched coverage that constantly seemed to be on the verge of a breakthrough, yet only rehashed the existing coverage, adding nothing new.
Eventually, the face of a local Copeland real estate agent popped on the screen. George fidgeted and leaned forward in his chair, scowling at the TV.
The real estate agent, a man named Carl Plummer, said, “Thank you for having me. I only wish it could be under better circumstances.” He had an aura of refinement, and an elevated, ever-so-slightly British accent. “I've been a close friend of the Morrison family for numerous years, which is why I've been trusted with the sale of the family home.” He sniffed theatrically. “In fact, the lovely, split-level Copeland home will be back on the market, at a fair price, once the cleanup has been completed. It's a generous-sized lot with mature trees, close to excellent schools.” He beamed an effortless, practiced grin. “Bring your decorating ideas!”
Piper turned to George and mouthed a Wow. A cleaning crew was probably still scrubbing George's blood out of the floor, and this so-called close family friend was trying to speed up his commission.
George stood abruptly, turned to the left, took three steps, and disappeared into a wall.
Piper wanted to follow him, but she had no ability to walk through walls. She sipped her coffee and kept watching the aggressive real estate agent on TV. He kept stressing how long it had been since he'd been to the home. He mentioned it had been a week, and he dropped that fact into the interview three times.
Piper looked at the wall George had disappeared through. He'd clearly been upset by Carl Plummer, which had to mean something.
She got up and went to her bedroom for her phone, as well as the business card the chief of police had given her the night before. The chief wouldn't be investigating the case personally, but he could put her in touch with the detective.
She called the number and got voice-mail. She left her details, closing with, “You should run the partial plate number I saw against vehicles registered to Mr. Carl Plummer. He's a Realtor with one of those big agencies. His billboard is on every route into town, so I'm sure you've heard of him.” She paused, unsure of how to let the chief know it was worth pursuing. “My, uh, memory is coming back. It's just flashes, but I think I remember seeing Mr. Plummer inside the house when I got there.”
She yanked the phone away from her mouth guiltily and ended the call.
What was she doing? What if Carl Plummer was an innocent man? She could be destroying his career. Then again, if his car's plates didn't match, or he had an alibi for the previous evening, he would be fine. The matter was in the hands of the Copeland Police Department now.
She set her phone on the charger and checked the time on the bedside clock. It was nearly nine o'clock at night. Time had flown by while she'd been watching television with her ghostly house guest.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her. It happened sometimes when she was near her comfortable bed. She fluffed her pillow and lay down to rest for a while. The coffee would kick in soon, so she'd nap until it did. Teddy had been fed, and he had access to the backyard through his doggie door. As she drifted off, she pondered how hanging out with a ghost was surprisingly draining.
Sunday October 30th
Piper slept straight through the night, waking at dawn, shortly before seven a.m.
She rolled stiffly out of bed and immediately showered, wincing as she shaved her legs. The two-day-old bruises on her shins were fading from a hideous purple to a ghastly green. The bruises looked worse than they felt, but they were definitely tender.
She dressed in her oldest, most comfortable jeans and a designer sweatshirt. She fed Teddy then padded around the house barefoot, calling George's name. There was no sign of him in any of the sunny rooms. Had her house guest checked out? Had he found a new home with a bigger flat-screen? She flicked the television on to CNN and waited expectantly for several minutes. He didn't appear.
Morning sunshine filled the rooms. It was a beautiful fall day in Arizona, a day perfect for being outdoors. George could be outside, or perhaps he simply disappeared during daytime hours. So far, she'd only seen him at night. She considered what little she knew about ghosts. She decided the bright sunshine had to be the reason for his absence. He'd be back after sunset. She had the whole day to he
rself.
Suddenly, she craved the company of other humans—living ones.
She called Teddy, snapped on his leash, pulled on flat walking shoes and a leather jacket, and stepped out into the crisp autumn air. She stretched her stride as she traversed the large, immaculate front yard and headed toward the main road in search of breakfast and human companionship.
Her feet took her to a vintage-style diner she'd walked past hundreds of times but never stepped inside. She parked Teddy under an ash tree draped in red fall foliage, and headed toward the restaurant.
She pulled open the glass door and stepped into the welcoming scent of bacon and pancakes. A hush fell over the half-full diner. Every head in the place turned to stare in her direction. A fork clattered. She glanced over her shoulder to see who everyone was staring at. She was alone. They were looking at her, for reasons unknown.
A red-haired woman at a nearby booth stood and said, “Piper Chen?” She looked sweaty and disheveled, like she'd just come in for breakfast after a run.
“You're her,” the woman said excitedly. “You're Piper Chen.”
Piper blinked. Her intuition told her to get out of this situation.
The woman was the same age as Piper's mother. She was dressed in a dark-gray Nike jogging suit that made her bright-red hair stand out like a flame in the dark. She looked familiar, but none of Mrs. Chen's friends would be caught dead out in public in leisure wear, let alone a Nike jogging suit.
“Come sit at my table,” the woman said.
Piper's traveling-alone reflexes kicked in. She spoke for the first time, saying, “I don't speak English.”
It was a phrase that had gotten her out of many awkward situations in the past. There were some advantages to being Asian in a town that wasn't. She put her head down and rushed over to an empty booth at the far corner of the restaurant.
She hid her face behind a menu and held still, heart pounding. Gradually, the diners around her eased back into their normal conversations. Her pulse returned to normal. Had everyone been staring at her? Yes, they had. From the minute she'd walked in. She wasn't being paranoid.
Piper didn't know it yet, but ever since the death of George Morrison, news of her involvement had been spreading. It hadn't reached CNN yet, but it had spread throughout the small town of Copeland. There were only a handful of Asian twenty-something women in town. Piper Chen had gone from being somewhat anonymous to instantly recognizable.
The woman who'd called out her name kept looking her way. She got to her feet.
This nosy redhead didn't take “I don't speak English” as an answer. She was walking toward Piper's booth.
Chapter 4
“Young lady, you shouldn't ignore me,” the red-haired woman said. “If you know what's good for you and your career.” She reached Piper's table and thrust a gleaming silver business card in front of Piper. “I'm only trying to help.”
“No English,” Piper said, refusing to take the card.
“I have a good eye for faces,” the woman said. “I know who you are.”
Piper blinked. “I no speak—”
She was interrupted by the arrival of a young man with an apron tied around his slim hips. “Ma'am?” He addressed the woman with a firm tone. “You must be lost, because this isn't your table.”
“But I was just giving her my card,” she whined.
He shoved the card back at her. “No soliciting inside the restaurant.” He shifted his body to block the woman's view of Piper.
The red-haired woman let out a haughty snort, turned on her heel, and walked away.
Piper smiled her appreciation at the waiter. And there was so much to appreciate, upon closer inspection. Under his white apron, he wore a black T-shirt, tight over a slim, muscular frame. His lightly-tanned jaw was clean-shaven and had a charming pointiness to the chin. His lips were pleasantly full, his eyes bright and blue. A hank of light brown hair fell across his slightly shiny brow. He was both cute and handsome, like the perfectly adorable lead singer in a boy band. She crushed on him. Instantly.
Piper's breath caught in her throat. She'd been claiming she didn't speak English. For the present moment anyway, she wasn't a liar. Basking in the attention of this crush-worthy young man, she found herself unable to speak English. She couldn't remember a single word of it, or any other language.
“Hello,” he said, his bright-blue eyes darting around the restaurant with the watchfulness of a manager. “No English?”
Piper squeaked and shook her head.
He smiled warmly. “The menu has pictures of most things, so you can point to whatever you'd like.” He used one hand to illustrate. “Pictures. Food. Just point.”
Piper's jaw dropped open. The nosy woman had left the table, so why couldn't Piper tell this adorable waiter the truth? They could talk! About anything he wanted! But her voice box was on strike. No sound would come out of her mouth.
He dropped down to sit on the booth's bench next to her. His proximity made her knowledge of English recede even further. Oh, well. So this was what it felt like to die of embarrassment.
He asked, “How about pancakes? This is the most popular.” He held the laminated menu in front of her and pointed to an image of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. “Everybody loves pancakes,” he said. “Especially on a lazy Sunday.”
She nodded briskly.
“Pancakes it is,” he said. “And coffee?” He reached for the upside-down cup in front of her, turned it over on the saucer, and mimed pouring coffee. She nodded. He flagged down the waitress, who came and filled Piper's cup. As he moved, the pleasant tang of either his body or his deodorant or both reached Piper's nose. He smelled as good as pancakes.
After the waitress left, he stayed seated, muttering about needing a break. He kept smiling at Piper. His teeth were crooked but in an adorable way. She wanted to put her fingers in his mouth, touch the jagged point of his crooked dog tooth.
The muscles around his eyes shifted, and he seemed to be on the verge of saying something but didn't.
A comfortable silence settled between them.
She broke eye contact and glanced down demurely. He wore a name tag on his black T-shirt. Otis. What an unusual name. She liked it. Did he usually sit next to customers to help them order, or was she special? She certainly felt special.
A bell rang. Someone in the kitchen shouted, “Order up!”
Otis pulled away slowly, reluctantly, like he was moving through sand, and then he was gone, delivering plates of food and refilling cups of coffee.
By the time he returned with her order of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, Piper's knowledge of English had returned, but she kept it to herself. She smiled, enjoying the way the young man spoke to her as if she were a visiting foreigner.
He said, “I don't know why I keep talking like an idiot, since you can't understand me. Silly American boy.”
She smiled sweetly, and it was all the encouragement he needed to keep going, talking slowly and expressively about the food, the coffee, the weather. He used simple words and repeated himself, his face ever hopeful that some meaning was coming through. She smiled and nodded while her steaming pancakes sat untouched. He made her too nervous to eat, which he eventually noticed. Otis vacated the table with an apology.
Alone, she dug into the food with gusto. Because she'd slept straight through most of Saturday, she'd missed a day of eating and was famished.
When she'd finished eating, Otis came to pick up her empty plate and saw her watching Teddy through the window.
“Cute little guy you've got out there,” he said. “Your dog,” he clarified. “Some people don't like small dogs, but I love them. He's a Chihuahua, isn't he?”
Piper pressed her lips together to stop herself from correcting him. Teddy was small for a Boston Terrier, but he was no Chihuahua.
“Does he bark much?” Otis gave her another charming grin worthy of the cover of a teen magazine. His chin was so deliciously pointy. She wanted to bite it. She'd never exp
erienced these crush-like feelings toward a real person, and was confused by her impulses.
“You look troubled,” Otis said. “I guess you still don't know what I'm saying. Here, I'll improvise.” He pointed at the dog, set down her empty breakfast plate, held both hands up to his chin like paws, and barked.
Piper covered her mouth with one hand and giggled. She felt like a stereotype, like a disgrace, but she couldn't help it. This was what it felt like to want to giggle shyly behind one hand.
He barked some more then pretended to pant, his pink tongue lolling to one side. He cocked his head in what was a surprisingly good impression of Teddy.
The flat-screen television on a nearby wall flickered to life, and a news station came on the screen. They both turned to look. The channel was broadcasting more footage of George Morrison's Realtor, Carl Plummer, talking about what a fine family the Morrisons were. “Everyone knew George was destined for greatness,” Carl said. “He put Copeland on the map. The town should build a statue of him.”
The female reporter interviewing him let out a fake laugh. “They don't build statues of authors.”
Carl quickly replied, “I can't see why not. The man has brought so much happiness to the world. They should build a statue here, in Copeland.”
“He's brought happiness to the world, along with anguish,” the reporter said with another fake laugh. “Let's not forget how devastated the fans were when their favorite characters got murdered senselessly by Mr. Morrison. Maybe it's for the best that he's gone. He would have killed all the favorites, eventually.”
Carl tented his hands like a villain in a cartoon. “Interesting you should mention that. What do you think of these rumors circulating, about how his biggest fans conspired to get him… out of the picture?”
The reporter's nostrils flared. “Mr. Plummer, that's quite a shocking allegation. You know, we can't just say anything we want on the air. There are issues of libel and slander.” The text at the bottom of the screen changed to flash LIVE.
Witches and Ghosts Supernatural Mysteries Page 3
